fragments
[two identical pen-and-ink line-drawings of myself, side by side. I am wearing a striped shirt, short hair, and large glasses. My arms are crossed on the table and my expression is somewhat severe (as is usally the case in my self portraits). the first version is simple and the second has colorful geometric doodles and messy-neat handwriting that voices anxieties: Am I okay? Is this fine? Does everyone know something that I don't know? etc.]
Bumping along the countryside passing lakes and mountains, meadows and little towns boasting giant statues of Canadian geese, I flipped through my first two months of journal entries, and a few weeks later on the bus to Toronto, I read through what I had written while in Montréal, which was almost as much. There is so much to say right now I'm not even sure how to focus this post. I think I will have to let go of trying to express everything at once.
I am sitting outside in a sunny break from the autumn rain, watching a cluster of sparrows pick through the grass: diligent, cheerful. I am drinking tea and looking down at the words, notes, reflections, and diagrams in my lap: 'criteria for possible longer-term stays' - 'COLOR ORGANIZING!' - 'spontaneity is a privilege!' - 'life systems i've observed' - 'ergodic literature' - 'items inventory' - 'applied impro debrief' - 'WHAT DO I NEED TO DO TO TAKE CARE OF MYSELF SO THAT I CAN MEANINGFULLY ENGAGE WITH DISCOMFORT?' - 'Second City ~ Drop in class' - 'wandering impro theatre' - and other wayward notes. There is a white trowel with faded floral print and an orange frisbee hanging from nails on the porch rail.
I turned in my first quarterly report to the Watson Foundation last week, and when I got a response from them I literally burst into tears. It took me a while to figure out what that was all about...I think I was so grateful - it hit me that this is actually happening, this is my life, this is such an incredible gift. And also I was tremendously relieved - I didn't realize how much stress I've been carrying around wondering if I am doing things right, if I am okay.
Auntie told me that she's been following my posts and reflections (hi auntie!) and that it feels heavy sometimes - almost like I am doing two separate projects at once. That felt really right to me: there's this project of coming to terms with my disability identity, navigating a new physicality and encountering access and travel for the first time in this new way, and then there's this project of studying improvisation and art and honest, spontaneous, creative performance. In many ways they compliment each other, and can even be seen as metaphors for each other. In many ways I feel extraordinarily lucky to be experiencing them side by side, I think they help me in processing, loving, and making sense of eachother. But they're both huge and complicated and sometimes I worry about my ability to hold both without compromising one or the other. But here we go, I have to stop holding my breath (I do this often) and let go and accept that I am doing the best I can right now. Collecting hopes, dreams, ideas and strategies for the next stage of planning and doing my best to learn from what is happening in the moment as well.
I've been on the road for three months as of last Wednesday, time is stretching and flying! I already feel bigger and smaller, lighter and heavier, tighter and looser and more exhausted and more inspired and more sad and more joyful and more structured and more spontaneous and more full of complexity and contradiction. Which is to say, perhaps, more alive?
